The Case of the Disappearing Duck
by Westron Wynde
Summary: A duck, an obnoxious child and the question of Watson's trousers - proof that there is never a dull moment at 221B Baker Street! Silly but fun. And it's for VHunter07. COMPLETE!
1. Ducks Need Not Apply

**For VHunter07**

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**_The Case of the Disappearing Duck_**

**Part One: Ducks Need Not Apply**

"Holmes, for the last time, no!"

"Watson, for heaven's sake, it's such a little thing to ask."

"Then why don't you do it?"

Holmes sniffed and regarded me placidly. "Because I have a certain reputation to maintain."

"And what about my reputation?" I countered hotly.

"My dear fellow, you make too much of a trifle," said he, rather too reasonably for my liking.

"Then I repeat, why do you not do it yourself, Holmes?"

"Because it is your fault that we are in this confounded mess."

"Maybe so, but that is no good reason why I should have to remove my trousers in public!"

It should have been one of Sherlock Holmes's greatest cases, bearing as it did all the hallmarks of a small incident made infinitely more meaningful by the application of his formidable powers of deductive logic. Its beginning was absurd, its ending memorable, if for very much the wrong reasons. Indeed, the case was trumpeted as an outstanding success, but certain indignities forced upon us both in the pursuit of such meant that it was less so on a personal level.

However, since the tale is worth the telling, our collective pride must be swallowed. The events that led our being stranded and becalmed in a boat in the middle of the Serpentine on a stifling summer's afternoon must be recounted with truth and honesty, regardless of our finer feelings.

It began on a humid morning in the closing days of July 1894, that year when all London thrilled the news that my estimable friend and colleague had seemingly done the impossible and returned to life from a watery grave at the foot of the Reichenbach Falls. By then, at Holmes's request, I had sold my practice and returned to Baker Street in time to bear witness to the public's overwhelming out-pouring of goodwill at his fortuitous survival. Throughout the summer letters of congratulation continued to arrive, mingling with an ever-increasing stack of pleas for help and cries for assistance against injustice.

One such letter gave my friend cause for some mirth as we sat at breakfast one morning and I inquired as the nature of its contents.

"How would you define precociousness, my dear fellow?" said he idly.

I considered my response. Such requests for dictionary definitions from Holmes usually had some greater purpose than mere curiosity.

"I should say it applies to a child who shows unusual mental aptitude or maturity at an early age."

Holmes raised his brows. "An adequate description, I dare say," said he. "I would have added that a tendency to arouse irritation in one's elders was also a necessary element of the condition, which is aptly demonstrated by this letter. Cast your eye over this, Watson, and tell me what you make of it."

The paper was of the best quality, bearing the watermark of a distinguished firm of papermakers with a warrant that proclaimed their exclusive right to supply all manner of stationery to royalty. A coat of arms with the chevrons and boar and bear supporters of the Fitzwilliam-Devereux family was emblazoned at the top of the paper, proclaiming the sender's noble lineage. There was also vague smell of chocolate about it, emanating from a brownish smear of a small thumb mark on the reverse of the page.

"You think this fellow, the Honourable Sydney Fitzwilliam-Devereux, is a child?" I asked, referring to the name neatly printed at the bottom of the letter.

Holmes eyed me reprovingly over the rim of his coffee cup. "Really, Watson, is it so hard to say that a writer who indulges in the consumption of confectionery whilst penning a letter of considerable import, as he describes it, has either the most frivolous and disdainful nature, or is tender of years?"

"It might have been written by his secretary."

"Then standards must be slipping amongst the upper echelons. Have you read the contents? No. Well, then I suggest that you do, for that will provide you with all the evidence that you need. That, and Debrett's, I think."

He rose to collect the volume while I studied the letter again. The words were legible and precise, as written by someone taking great care over their work, or perhaps, if Holmes were correct, by someone working under the critical eye of a tutor. It bore the usual presumptive language typical of its writer's rank in assuming that no other business is more important than his own, made all the more conceited by that air of confidence that the young are wont to display and which leaves their elders reeling.

Having read it, I could understand Holmes's annoyance. I agreed with his assessment of the writer's age, not least because of the excessively trivial nature of his concerns. In essence, the Honourable Sydney Fitzwilliam-Devereux was troubled over the fate of a duck and thought the matter of sufficient enough importance to lay it before the country's foremost consulting detective.

That remark alone would have been enough at one time to drive my friend in a paroxysm of indignation. His scope was justly considered wider than the shores of this isle, quite apart from dealing with matters of rather more national significance than the disappearance of a family pet.

"Listen to this," said he, reading from the entry in _Debrett's Peerage and Baronetage_. "The Honourable Sydney Fitzwilliam-Devereux, born 12th July 1883, second son of Lord and Lady Petersham of Nether Markby, Lincolnshire. The father is dead, as I recall, and the eldest boy is a sickly child of twelve. Hence our precious letter writer's tone in considering himself able to speak for the family in such a matter."

He snapped the book shut and smiled wistfully.

"Ah, the carefree innocence of childhood, Watson. Were there ever such days when all our worries were nothing more serious than dirty fingers and missing mallards?"

Strange though it may sound, I could never imagine a time when Holmes had ever been troubled by such concerns. I had long harboured the image of him as being as precocious in his infancy as this young client.

"In your case, Holmes, I should think not," said I with some amusement.

He grinned and began to fill his pipe.

"My brother would tell you otherwise. He maintains that I was an irritating malapert of the first order. If I stirred half as much irritation as this trying young fellow, then I owe many my deepest apologies."

"And what of the Honourable Sydney Fitzwilliam-Devereux?"

He waved an airy hand. "One may admire his boldness in having the temerity to address me over such a trivial affair. On any ordinary day, that would at least warrant a reply. However, this is not an ordinary day. I have received a telegram from Mycroft that demands my attention. The Home Office is in something of a state over the possibility of a spy in their midst. We have enough to occupy us, Watson. Ducks, missing or otherwise, need not apply."

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_Continued in Part Two: The Importance of Being Earnest about Ducks_

_Reviews welcomed and appreciated!_


	2. The Importance of Being Earnest

_**The Case of the Disappearing Duck**_

**Part Two: The Importance of Being Earnest about Ducks**

And so it was that the letter was put aside and forgotten. I should have thought no more about it had I not been accosted on our doorstep two days later by a fair-haired child of some eleven years of age. He was dressed to the nines, complete with miniature top hat and cane. Behind him trailed a harassed young governess and a cherubic girl of six.

"You're not Mr Sherlock Holmes," said the boy with considerable disappointment.

It does happen from time to time that my proximity to our street door causes the odd muddle-headed passer-by to confuse me with my celebrated friend. I am long used to disillusioning people on that account.

"No, young man, I am not," I confirmed.

"I thought not," came the assured reply. "You don't look intelligent enough to bear that illustrious name. Therefore, you must be that Dr Watson fellow, the writer."

The audacity of his remark fairly took me aback. Had I spoken such to my elders at his age, my father would have tanned my hide for my insolence. Such a consideration little bothered this child, however. Behind him, the pretty governess blushed deeply and the little girl giggled.

"You may tell Mr Holmes that I am here to see him," the boy declared.

"Mr Holmes is very busy," I returned.

"Then you, sir, will convey my deepest apologies for disturbing him, which I should not presume to do unless my business was of the gravest nature."

"Oh, will I indeed? And what, pray, is your name?"

The little fellow stood as tall as his limited stature would allow and puffed out his chest. "I am the Honourable Sydney Fitzwilliam-Devereux. This is my sister, Amelia. We are here concerning the matter of our missing duck."

To say that I was astonished by his pronouncement was an understatement. The matter had been lightly dismissed by both Holmes and myself in favour of more pressing problems. I dare say neither of us had expected the little monster to appear in person.

I was of a mind to tell this precocious imp to be on his way. However, the governess seemed to be in positive fear least her young charge be thwarted in his plans. I took pity on her. If what I had seen of the child's behaviour was anything to judge by thus far, then her life must be trying indeed.

I invited them in, asked Mrs Hudson to bring us tea and showed our visitors upstairs. Holmes was pacing furiously about the room with a letter in his hand and a vexed expression on his face that only deepened when I announced we had a visitor.

"Watson," said he tersely, "this business is at a crisis. An intrusion at this time would be most inconvenient."

His eye fell upon the boy who had pushed under my arm and now stood surveying our untidy domain with a critical eye.

"Gas lights?" said he disdainfully. "You do not have the electricity laid on yet? We have had a Swan and Edison system at Markby Hall these past two years. How very uninspired these quarters are. I had expected so much more."

It is not often that I witness my friend stilled into inaction. He stared at this vision that had invaded our rooms with his little nose tilted high in the air and a disparaging look in his eye, and seemed both completely stunned and utterly horrified.

"Who is this ungovernable child?" he demanded at last. "And what is he doing here?"

"My name," declared the boy authoritatively, "is the Honourable Sydney Fitzwilliam-Devereux. One day, I shall be a peer of the realm."

"Then the realm has my condolences in advance," said Holmes, cocking an unimpressed eyebrow in my direction.

"Now, Mr Holmes," the boy went on blithely, "you received my letter, I trust?"

"I did."

"And what have you done about it?"

"Nothing. It may come as some surprise to you to hear, young man, that matters of national importance have been occupying my mind these past few days. I have given your problem not a second thought."

The boy's face fell. "But Rupert is important to us."

"Rupert?" I queried.

"Our duck. That is the name my sister gave to him."

"May I be permitted to make a suggestion?" Holmes said wearily. "Buy another duck to replace that which you have lost."

"Oh, but he is not our duck. He lives on the Serpentine."

"Should he reside at Buckingham Palace, it would matter not a jot to me. I am busy. Now, leave."

His temper was roused, as well it might be. To give the boy his credit, he would not be so easily dissuaded.

"Mr Holmes, I will not," said he authoritatively. "It is unconscionable for a future Prime Minister to be dismissed without being allowed to state his case."

Holmes stared at him. "What a brazen little imp you are! Madam, I suggest you remove your charge forthwith, for I will tolerate this no longer."

The little girl started to cry. Her brother went to her side and put his arm around her shoulder.

"We would not trouble you, Mr Holmes, unless the situation was dire," said he. "My sister and I fear deeply for Rupert's safety. We fear there is wrong-doing here. If so, then you are the only man in England who can help us."

It is nigh on impossible not to be moved by the tears of a child. I saw Holmes's shoulders slump and I deduced that he was on the verge of capitulation.

"I appreciate your confidence in my powers," said he, "but any private agency, I'm sure, would be delighted to take on such a case for you."

"They will not do," the boy insisted. "They will laugh at us. Yet I have read how it is an axiom of yours that the little things are infinitely the most important. Well, sir, this is a little thing perhaps, but to us it is _infinitely_ important."

Holmes's eyes rolled heavenwards. "Watson, those writings of yours will get me into very deep waters one of these days. Very well. I will listen and you will heed my advice, whatever it may be. Is that understood?"

The Honourable Sydney Fitzwilliam-Devereux nodded his head earnestly.

"Then take a seat," said Holmes, gesturing to the sofa, "and recount your tale."

"It has been our custom to take our daily constitutional in Hyde Park while we have been residing in London for the summer," the boy began. "My sister has a fondness for feeding the ducks and so we have been in the habit of visiting the Serpentine Lake twice a day with crusts and stale bread, once in the morning and once in the afternoon. There are many ducks to feed, but our favourite has been a pure white one, the only one of its kind amongst many drab mallards."

"His name is Rupert," said his sister.

"Do be quiet, Amelia," he chided. "To continue, this habit has sat well with us, except four days ago, we noticed a change had come over Rupert. In the morning he had been all white as usual, but by the afternoon, he had several brown feathers around his eyes. The next morning the brown feathers remained, but by evening his head was white again and he had one brown feather in each of his wings."

"Evidently they were different ducks," said Holmes. "I do not see there is much of a mystery here. Rupert has flown away and another taken his place."

"But why should he do so?" the boy persisted. "Ducks, like all animals, do not willingly desert a ready source of food." He stuck out his chin. "It is my belief that he has been kidnapped and an impostor has taken his place. The next day the impostor was kidnapped too and this was repeated on all subsequent days."

As absurd as the situation was, I could not stop myself becoming interested. "For what purpose? I can understand that someone might be stealing the ducks from the lake for…" I paused and did not give my thought voice before the little girl. "Well, for nefarious purposes, but why leave a similar duck in its place?"

Holmes's brow was furrowed and his eyes burned with a bright intensity that spoke of the depth of his musings.

"Why indeed," he murmured. "What about this afternoon? This curious pattern I take it has been repeated yet again?"

"The duck this morning had a notch in its beak which was not there when we returned a little over an hour ago. Well, Mr Holmes, what shall we do?"

To my disbelief, I could tell that he was giving the matter serious consideration.

"I am intrigued," said he. "It is not often I am in error, but I must congratulate your perspicacity in bringing this case to my attention, young man."

The boy jumped to his feet in evident delight. "You will take the case?"

"I will look into the problem, yes."

"We are in your debt, Mr Holmes. Do you require a retainer? My family is quite wealthy, you know. We will pay whatever you ask."

A smile quirked the corner of my friend's mouth as he shook his head. "Consider it an act of goodwill to our future Prime Minister, for one day I may be in need of his assistance."

The Honourable Sydney Fitzwilliam-Devereux bowed low. "When I am in office, my first act will be to see that you are knighted, Mr Holmes. Good day to you, sir."

With that, he took his sister by the hand and proceeded out of the room. His governess paused to thank us for our kindness and hurried after them.

"What an appalling child!" Holmes said when they had gone. "Whatever has happened in my absence, Watson, that the nobility are raising their offspring in such a manner? If he does ever become Prime Minister, I shall emigrate."

"You aren't serious, are you, Holmes?" I inquired. "About this duck?"

"There are points of interest," said he, lighting himself a cigarette. "I shall devote some little time to the problem tomorrow."

"But your other case?"

"Ah, that needs time and a good deal of consideration on my part which fresh air and a change of scenery will greatly aid. Now, what say you to a walk in Hyde Park? There is nothing like exercise for sharpening the mind."

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_Continued in Part Three: A Duck in the Hand_

_Reviews welcome and appreciated!_


	3. A Duck in the Hand

_**The Case of the Disappearing Duck**_

**Part Three: A Duck in the Hand**

The next morning found Holmes departed long before I rose. I heard nothing from him all day until tea time when a foul tramp with a long grey beard and tattered clothes staggered into our rooms. I was up on my feet and about to confront him for his temerity at invading a private home in such a manner when suddenly he began to laugh heartily.

"Calm yourself, my dear fellow," said Holmes, peeling the whiskers from his chin. "You would make a most commendable watchdog, although I fear your bark might be worse than your bite."

"Where on earth have you been?" I asked.

He grinned. "I have had a most profitable day. You may call me the dullest man in England, since but for the persistence of a child, I should surely have missed what promises to be the most elaborate of conspiracies that has ever crossed my path."

He fell into a chair with a weary sigh and I poured him a cup of tea.

"I have spent the day beneath a tree by the Serpentine, watching the comings and goings of wildfowl, and one white duck in particular. You may be surprised to hear that since my vigil began, the duck in question has since sprouted a brown tuft upon his head."

"Incredible," said I. "How is that possible?"

"The ducks spend the hottest part of the day on an island in the middle of the lake. At ten past one, I observed a man row out to the island with a basket. He pulled ashore and vanished into the undergrowth for several minutes. Then he rowed back to the boathouse. When the ducks again took to the water, I observed that the one that interests us had changed his appearance."

He pursed his lips in an attitude of contemplation.

"That annoying but sharp-eyed child was quite correct. A substitution had taken place on that island. Now we must ask ourselves why."

"I'm sure I could not possibly say, Holmes."

"I believe I could," said he, his eyes twinkling like diamonds in the late afternoon sunlight. "If you would accompany me to Hyde Park tomorrow, we shall better be able to get to the bottom of this mystery!"

Accordingly, at one o'clock the next day, I was to be found sitting on a bench overlooking the Serpentine's wide expanse of water with a newspaper before my eyes and a packet of sandwiches beside me. Hidden somewhere behind the trees were Inspector Lestrade and several constables. Holmes was some little way from the boat house, his straw boater tipped over his eyes as he reclined on the grass and pretended to bask beneath the warmth of the sun.

Ten minutes later, I noticed a man with a full black beard, shifty eyes and hat pulled low over his eyes start to scull towards the island with its mass of trees and dozing ducks. Exactly as Holmes had described, the man went ashore carrying a closed wicker basket. I was aware of the sound of frantic quacking and several brown ducks suddenly took to the water. Shortly after, the man reappeared, stowed his basket in the boat and rowed briskly back to shore.

No sooner had he alighted than we were all up on our feet and hurtling towards him. Still clutching his basket, he tried to make a run for it, but Holmes stood in his way and foiled his escape.

He plucked the hat from the man's head, revealing a shock of wiry red hair around a bald pate. "Mr Henry Warren, I believe," said he with some satisfaction. "The notorious broker of state secrets, taken from the grubby hands of government officials and delivered into the grasp of foreign agents."

"Good heavens, Mr Holmes," said Lestrade, aghast. "We've been after this cove for how long I don't care to think. We've never been able to catch him with any incriminating evidence before." He eyed my friend curiously. "I suppose we have caught him in the act now?"

Holmes smiled. "Look in that basket, Inspector. There you will find a most ingenious means of delivery." He pulled the lid back to reveal a bewildered white duck with a brown tuft on its head inside. "I had thought after that incident with the Blue Carbuncle that such a devilish means of conveyance might be exploited by others. It seems I was not wrong. Ah, well, as they say, there is nothing new under the sun."

"You mean there's something hidden in that duck?" I said in astonishment.

"Indeed, Watson. Feeding the ducks is something of a national pastime, so no one gave a second glance at a man throwing bread upon the waters. What they might have made of his taking up a particular white duck and forcing a metal canister into its mouth is another matter. Ah, which reminds me. If you wait here until half past five, Inspector, a Mr Michael Jenkins, a junior accounting clerk from the Home Office, will appear. Arrest him without delay and you will find the evidence of his crime upon his person."

"The Home Office!" I exclaimed. "You mean, he is the spy you were after?"

Holmes chuckled. "Quite so, Watson. I came upon the solution tail end foremost, as it were. And a duck's tail at that. I noted from the official investigation that Jenkins was in the habit of regularly visiting the Serpentine after work. I thought nothing of it until the daily change in the appearance of the white duck was brought to my attention."

"But why ducks?" asked Lestrade. "Surely there's an easier way of going about these things."

"No doubt," said Holmes with a nod. "However, once his superior's suspicions were roused, Jenkins was forced to change his usual method and contrite a much more elaborate means of delivery. Plant the stolen information within a particular duck, which Warren caught and took away, leaving another near identical duck in its place ready for the next day. I wonder, who was it came up with such an ingenious idea, Mr Warren?"

Warren growled and stared daggers at all of us.

"You won't tell me? Well, perhaps your accomplice will be more forthcoming. I imagine you will be equally reticent about the name of the foreign agent to whom you have been passing these secrets. I do not envy you your task, Lestrade."

"We'll deal with him, never fear," said the Inspector. "Constable, slap the derbies on him."

As the policeman stepped forward, Warren threw his arms up in the air. In an instant, we were thrown into a state of confusion. The basket was dashed to the floor and the duck made his escape, flapping his wings wildly and scurrying away towards the lake. Warren took to his heels with the speed of a hare, leaving the constables lagging behind him.

"Quick, Watson," yelled Holmes. "Into the boat. Follow that duck!"

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_Continued in Part Four: A Wild Duck Chase_

_Reviews welcome and appreciated!_


	4. A Wild Duck Chase

_**The Case of the Disappearing Duck**_

**Part Four: A Wild Duck Chase**

It takes time for one to appreciate that deeds done in haste and without due thought are not necessarily the best course of action.

In my case, this dawning light of realisation came as we rounded the island for the third time. My arms were aching and my face had that displeasing sheen of moisture that is the inevitable result of chasing a duck in a rowing boat across the Serpentine. For some reason, I was seated at the oars while Holmes gave direction from the stern of the boat. Why we had not shared the labours between us, I was at a loss to say, save now that I thought about, it all seemed rather unfair.

"Watson," he chided as I ceased in my sculling. "You can't stop now. We almost have him!"

"You said as much five minutes ago," I reminded him. "Meanwhile, I am sore and tired."

"That is because you are out of condition. Keep rowing. You are clearly in need of the exercise."

"You could keep this up all day, I suppose?"

"Most certainly."

"Then why don't you take my place?"

I was sure I perceived a wrinkle of displeasure crease his upper lip.

"Don't be ridiculous," said he. "Unnecessary movement in this unstable craft will surely pitch us both into the water."

"Nonsense," I retorted. "That is the worst excuse I have ever heard, Holmes."

"It happens to be the truth."

"Be that as it may, it changes nothing. I cannot and will not row another yard."

Holmes sat forward and his expression became earnest. "Watson, would you have us return empty-handed? Lestrade will apprehend his man, I have no doubt, and yet we will prove unable to catch a single duck? Come now, Watson, faint heart never won fair lady. Let's have no more delay."

If he was expecting that such a comment would spur me into action, he was about to be relieved of his illusions. I remained where I was, with my elbows resting on my knees and the oars idle in the rowlocks.

Seeing that I was unmoved, he tried again.

"My dear fellow, have you no pride?"

"Sadly it lags far behind my ability to continue with this pursuit. If you feel equal to the challenge, be my guest."

Vexed by my refusal he might well be, but it was to no avail. Finally, he condescended to take my place. After a sigh that resounded with a good deal of annoyance, he stripped down to his shirt sleeves and intimated that I should hold the boat steady while he came over to join me.

We rocked somewhat violently as he rose and took several unsteady steps towards me. The oars jangled and threatened to slide through the smooth metal rings, and only my quick reactions prevented us from losing both to the green waters of the lake. I shuffled over to make room as Holmes landed ungainly on the seat beside me, causing further irritation for us both as water slopped over the sides and onto our shoes.

"This seat is damp," Holmes complained, turning to inspect the stain that had darkened the fabric of his trousers. "Really, Watson, you should practise greater care in your rowing technique. Soaking one's fellow passengers does not foster good relations. Nor should one be seen in public with wet patches on one's posterior. It leads to all sort of speculation."

"If you put enough effort into your strokes, I'm sure you will be dry long before we reach the shore."

"Sarcasm is the refuge of the unimaginative," said he tersely. "Still, you must be forgiven your bitterness, given that you have been forced to concede the task."

"No doubt you are a first-rate rower."

"I would not say so, although I was a reserve for the rowing squad at college."

"_Only_ a reserve?" I queried with some amusement.

He sniffed. "One does not like to find fault with the captain's decision, but it has ever been my considered opinion that had he not trusted Pickle Johnson's assertion that his shoulder injury was quite healed and let me take his place instead, that we would have won the Boat Race that year."

"Naturally."

"You may grin, Watson, but I think you know me well enough by know to trust that I mean what I say."

"Yes, Holmes. Modesty has never ranked highly amongst your virtues."

"Nor ever will it. Now, move yourself over to the stern, and be quick about it. Our quarry has gained a considerable lead on us already."

I stood and had to rest my hand on Holmes's shoulder for support as the boat lurched worryingly from side to side. I took one step forward, treading squarely on his toe as I near pitched headfirst into the lake. I fell heavily onto him, and my weight took us both over backwards off the bench and into the bottom of the boat. More water slopped over us as we dragged ourselves back into our seats and my clumsy grab at the opposite oar caused its handle to snap up and smack Holmes a blow under the chin.

"Good heavens, sit down, will you?" said he gruffly, nursing his bruised jaw.

I muttered my apologies. "It's not as easy as it looks."

"I believe I did mention something of the sort earlier, much to your derision."

"For which I apologise. I shall endeavour to be more careful next time."

"No, you will sit and we will share the rowing."

"But, Holmes," I protested.

"No more arguments, Watson. I, for one, should like to make it back to dry land with my teeth intact. And many hands make light work, as the saying goes. Now, put your back into it and we shall have our duck in no time at all!"

This was not quite the scenario I had envisaged when I had thrown up my hands and refused to row any further. However, since I could not be trusted to keep upright if I attempted to move again, it seemed I had no choice but to take up my oar and join Holmes in a concerted rowing effort. Sharing the work made it a good deal easier, although keeping up with the rhythm he set was no mean feat.

Sure enough, we soon gained ground on the fleeing bird and maintained a parallel course. As it happened, the duck was on my side and it fell to me to reach out and grab the creature. My aim could have been better, but I did manage to grasp a handful of tail feathers. I drew the bird in and took a better hold on it, pinioning its wings to its sides as it quacked nosily in protest.

"Capital, Watson!" Holmes declared. "Now, do the necessary and let us head back to shore."

I faltered. "The necessary? You mean…"

"Despatch it with all due haste, my dear fellow. Unless you intend to hold it and row at the same time."

I glanced down at the duck with its flailing feet and gimlet eye.

"I'm not sure I can. What if this is Rupert?"

"Rupert met his end some time ago," said Holmes. "The child will grieve, but facts must be faced. What, do you still hesitate?"

"As much as this will surprise you, I have never wrung a duck's neck before. And," I added emphatically, "I am not inclined to begin with this specimen."

Holmes's eyes narrowed. "Sentimentality will get the better of you one day," said he. "Would it help your conscience if I told you that the creature is in a great deal of pain on account of the object that currently languishes in its stomach?"

"Will not Nature simply take its course?"

"No, I am afraid not. Why do you imagine that the duck's appearance changed every day? As one duck was despatched, another was needed to take its place. One must assume they had a plentiful supply of ducks, although given the high stakes involved, the purchase of a few ducks would hardly have dented their financial reward."

I looked again at the bird and thought of the little girl and the tears she had wept for a duck that she had lovingly fed for so many weeks. I wavered, much to Holmes's evident disgust, for he held out his hands and gestured that I should pass the duck across to him to carry out the sentence of execution.

I was about to give up the struggling bird when a woman's stern voice, seemingly coming from out of nowhere, fairly made me jump.

"I say, you there, you in the boat, what are you doing with that duck?"

Taking advantage of my momentary confusion, the duck slithered through my wet fingers, waddled across Holmes's lap and leapt over the side of the boat. Both of us tried to catch it, causing the boat to list to one side and dip perilously below the water line for one alarming moment. We managed to right ourselves, only to hear the ominous rattle of wood against metal.

Too late, one after the other of the oars fell from the rowlocks and plunged into the inky waters. They drifted lazily away from the boat and we were left adrift and without means of making it back to shore, much to the amusement of the elderly woman who had taken us to task.

"Let that be a lesson to you," said she with an air of disapproval, as she floated stately by, a vision in white ostrich feathers, lace parasol and dainty white gloves. "The park keeper shall hear of your unwarranted treatment of that poor creature, rest assured."

"What is the penalty for manhandling a duck on the Serpentine?" I asked when the woman had sailed out of earshot.

"I dare say you will find out in due course of time," said Holmes. "After all, you were one holding it."

"On your instructions."

"No, my dear fellow, I believe I told you to despatch it quickly. Had you done so, we would not be in this absurd situation. You alone will have to face the consequences for your hesitation."

"Very gallant of you," said I. "What now?"

Our oars were well beyond our reach, the duck was paddling as fast as its legs would carry it back to the safety of the shore, and we were stranded in the middle of the lake.

"Now," said Holmes, "you will have to fetch help."

I almost laughed. "From where?"

"I would suggest the boat keeper, since he is in command of a number of other vessels."

"And how do you propose that I gain his attention?"

"You will have to swim, Watson. Make haste. I have no mind to be sitting here still by the time Lestrade returns."

"Swim?" I echoed incredulously. "Surely you jest?"

"Oh, but I am quite serious."

"But this is my best suit."

"Then take it off. Why is this such a difficult proposition for you to grasp?"

"Because I cannot believe that you expect me in all seriousness to strip off in public and plunge into the Serpentine simply because we have lost our oars."

"Then what do you propose?"

"We paddle."

He snorted.

"Failing that, you swim for help. No doubt you are the stronger swimmer, seeing as how I am out of condition, as you put it not five minutes ago."

"Ah, but then I did not lose our oars. Each man must take responsibility for his own actions, and that particular error can in no way be laid at my door. Well, Watson, in you go. Be quick about it before that sharp-eyed woman in the boat has you up on an indecency charge as well as for interfering with Her Majesty's ducks."

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_Continued in Part Five: Out for a Duck_

_Reviews welcomed and appreciated!_


	5. Out for a Duck

_**The Case of the Disappearing Duck**_

**Part Five: Out for a Duck**

So it was that stalemate was reached, with neither of us prepared to sacrifice good name or good tailoring for the sake of the other.

We sat brooding and resentful, gently bobbing in an oarless boat in the midst of the Serpentine, much to the amusement of other rowers. At one point, a group of young ladies rowed by a gentleman in a straw boater passed by and I appealed to them for help. As pretty a picture as they presented in their dainty bonnets and summer dresses, they would only laugh at our dilemma and waved as they left us to our fate. This came as no surprise to my sullen companion, who had predicted such an event when I had first called to them. That we should have to ask for help, and from women at that, seemed to him much the worse of the two evils that beset us.

His manner soon changed, however, when a familiar figure appeared on the far shore and began waving at us.

"It's Lestrade," Holmes hissed, turning pointedly in the other direction. "Pretend we have not seen him."

His words came too late, for I had already waved back. In reply, the Inspector assumed a position with his fists on his hips in eloquent expression of his puzzlement as to why we had not rowed back. His next action was to cup his hands to his mouth and bellow across the lake.

I was about to answer when I became aware of Holmes's baleful glare upon me.

"If you do this, Watson," said he, "I may never speak to you again."

"You are not speaking to me now," I reminded him. "For my own part, I would rather be at loggerheads with you on dry land than trapped in this infernal boat. Unless you would prefer to spend the night out here?"

"Anything would be preferable to the indignities that you are about to heap upon us." Holmes gave an audible and deeply vexed sigh of disgust. "This is quite intolerable. You do realise that Lestrade will never let us forget this? We will be the laughing stock of the Yard."

"Look on the bright side, Holmes," I consoled him. "You have solved the mystery of the identity of the spy within the Home Office ranks. All you have to do is to tell Lestrade that you do not wish your name to appear in connection with the business and he will be unable to make this tale public, lest your involvement become known."

This notion seemed to placate him somewhat. "The price of fame," he muttered. "Or should that be infamy?"

"Either is bearable when one is clad in dry shoes and dry trousers."

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Very well. In the interests of harmony and the greater good, I see that I must relent. You may be sure, however, that news of our misadventure will spread despite your reassurances to the contrary. Really, Watson, if only you had not been so obdurate and deigned to swim ashore when I asked you, this could have all been avoided."

There are many things I would do for Sherlock Holmes, but all men, myself included, have their limits. Removing my trousers in public was certainly above and beyond the call of reasonable duty in my view and I had held fast to my principles. No doubt Holmes was correct in believing that we would be on the receiving end of much teasing over the coming weeks, but a little humility is sometimes good for the soul. Not that I could see Holmes taking it in such good humour and I knew that the times ahead would be gravely trying for him.

Still, there had been nothing to prevent him forsaking his trousers in the defence of his reputation. I did not see why I should have to shoulder all the blame for our predicament.

Since there was nothing else we could do, I yelled to Lestrade that we had encountered some minor difficulties and his assistance would be appreciated. By the time he and a burly constable had put to water in a pleasure craft, Holmes's expression could have been as one carved from stone. The Inspector did not help matters, appearing as he did with a knowing grin on his face and our two mislaid oars balanced across the prow of his boat.

"Lost something, did you?" said he lightly.

I groaned inwardly, for both my sake and Holmes's. So began our torment.

"A minor mishap," I replied, accepting our lot.

"That duck got away from you, did he?" Lestrade's grin broadened. "Ah, well, wildfowl are known for being slippery customers. Lucky thing my constable apprehended him when he came ashore. Such captures are always best left in hands of the official forces."

Holmes forced a smile. "As you say, Lestrade, the seizure of a duck is well within your capabilities. No doubt you have had more experience in such areas than us mere amateurs."

Under the circumstances, it was an ungracious comment to make to our rescuer to say the least. However, the Inspector knew his was the upper hand in this engagement and he did not take offence. Rather, he passed the oars across to us and said that he would see us back at the landing stage.

Holmes said nothing, a state which persisted throughout our frosty return journey. As I had been relegated to the stern, it was left to my companion to scull back with ease and efficiency. We arrived shortly before Lestrade and the constable, a small victory which served to restore a little of his wounded pride.

No sooner had we set foot on dry land than our troubles began anew. A large man, his trousers stained to the knees with lake water and algae, stormed over to us with eyes ablaze and waving fists.

"So you've caught those thieves, Inspector," said the irate boat keeper, for it was indeed his boat which we had earlier commandeered in our pursuit of the egregious duck. "I hope you'll be arresting them for the bounders they are."

I thought for one moment that Lestrade was about to take the man's charge seriously, but clearly he was savouring the moment and our humiliation.

"It's all right, sir," said he smugly. "These two gentlemen are working with the police."

"Are they indeed?" declared he. "That's as maybe, but there's still the question of the hire of the boat. Who's to pay for that, I ask you?"

To spare our blushes further, I delved into my pocket and produced a handful of damp coins. With the boat keeper paid off, there was only the question of the culprit, now securely cuffed and under the watchful eye of the other constable, and the duck, whose discontented quacking could be heard coming from the closed wicker basket.

"Well, Mr Holmes," said Lestrade. "Thank you for your help, although I think you'll agree that on this occasion we did manage pretty well on our own merits."

Holmes could barely muster the energy for a lacklustre nod.

"You won't be waiting to see that Home Office making an appearance?"

A shake of the head was all he would spare the Inspector in reply.

Lestrade grunted. "Probably for the best. You don't want to catch cold in those damp clothes of yours. I say, did you know you've a wet patch on your—"

"Yes, thank you, I did."

We were long overdue to remove ourselves from the scene, but Lestrade clearly still had something on his mind. He cleared his throat a little self-importantly and grasped his lapels in the manner of a man certain of his position and making the most of it.

"About the case, Mr Holmes," he wanted to know. "Will you be wanting your name to appear?"

"No, you are more than welcome to the credit."

"That's mighty good of you. You won't be writing this one up, will you, Dr Watson?"

I shook my head. "I doubt it, Inspector."

He accepted this admission without comment and had the good grace to conceal his amusement at the reason for my reticence. On that note, we should have left, except for the sudden appearance of the elderly woman who had upbraided us over our earlier treatment of the duck. She sailed down the landing stage towards us, brandishing a furled parasol at us with deadly intent.

"There they are," she declared. "They're the ones stealing ducks from the lake! Someone call the police."

Lestrade regarded her with the practiced air of a man long used to dealing with truculent members of the public.

"I _am_ the police, madam," said he. "What's the problem here?"

"I saw them take a duck from the lake," said she. "Had I not intervened, they would have wrung the poor thing's neck. Whatever is the world coming to? Well, what are you going to do about, Sergeant?"

"Inspector," Lestrade corrected her. "Leave this to me, madam."

"That's not good enough," said she indignantly. "Arrest them this instant!"

Lestrade smiled tolerantly. "That won't be necessary. You see, they were working for me."

"Oh, so you condone their behaviour, do you? Shame on you, sir!"

And with that she hit him over the head with her parasol. She would have done so again had not the constable rushed to his superior's aid. As he did so, the basket overturned and once again, the duck made his escape. We left them, with the women proclaiming her outrage to the world at large and Lestrade with a large cleft down the middle of his hat. Once we were far enough removed, we did nothing to prevent our laughter a second longer.

"Dear me," said Holmes, wiping tears from his eyes when he was in command of himself once more. "What an unexpected turn of events! I believe our reputations are saved, my dear fellow. Perhaps this day has had more to recommend it than I had at first thought."

"I'm afraid we'll not have good news to report to the Honourable Sydney Fitzwilliam-Devereux and his sister, Amelia."

"Well, one duck is much like another, Watson, and that miscreant, Warren, has had the good sense to provide the lake with a pure white duck. If you write to them and assure them that Rupert is once more in residence, I see no reason why they should not accept the impostor in his place."

"And if they do not believe me, Holmes?"

He grimaced. "In that case, when that obnoxious child comes calling again, you may inform him that I am out!"

**The End**

* * *

_**Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson are the creations are Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Characters and incidents mentioned in this work are entirely fictitious. This work of fan fiction has not been created for profit nor authorised by any official body.**_


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